


A Kinder Queen

by Drollittle



Category: Queen’s Thief
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 19:53:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14701065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drollittle/pseuds/Drollittle
Summary: Having experienced a miscarriage, how does Attolia’s attitude toward life and humanity change? What does her future hold?





	A Kinder Queen

 ..•.•.•.*.•.•.•.. 

Lady Via approached the queen’s chair after a banquet. Irene had always found her to be silly, and frankly annoying. Irene gazed past Lady Via with stony aloofness, an expression that often discouraged people from approaching her, but the lady continued forward, all the way to Irene’s elbow before curtsying. 

“Your Majesty,” she simpered. 

Unable to politely ignore her any longer, Irene turned. “Yes, Lady Via?” 

“I was sorry to hear about your miscarriage, your majesty.”

“Thank you,” said Irene tersely, and turned her face away again. 

“I’ve lost three babies. It’s hard, isn’t it?”

Startled, Irene turned, and on impulse took Lady Via’s hand in hers. “Yes, it is hard. I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

“I preferred not to talk about it at the time, but...”

Irene nodded, and they shared bittersweet silence for a moment. The queen was bewildered, that her heart was suddenly open to this woman she had scorned. The common grief between them was now more significant than all their differences. 

..•.•.•.*.•.•.•.. 

The sight of Baron Erondites in her throne room was only slightly less aggravating to Irene after Eugenides’ success in disgracing the Baron’s household. The balding, heavy-jowled man stepped ahead of the other courtiers with a swish of his fine cloak. He was leading a boy by the shoulder. The boy was perhaps seven or eight, but Irene had little experience with children and couldn’t be sure. 

“Attolis,” the Baron bowed stiffly to Eugenides, and then addressed Irene. “Attolia. Allow me to introduce my son, Erondites.”

“Go ahead,” said the king. 

“...Your Majesty?” 

“I allow you to introduce him.”

“Yes. This is my son, Erondites.” 

“So you said.”

There were some snickers among the crowd. The boy smiled briefly, before looking sullen again. 

The baron frowned. “I intend to make him my heir, and I need—“

“My approval.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Tell me why I should give it.”

“Well, Your Majesty, he is my son—“

“—and his name is Erondites. You _have_ said so already, though it seems odd for you to have named two sons the same.”

The baron was getting red in the face. “His name was Peristeri, but since you have, ah...divested me of my two older sons, I have changed his name. He is quite undoubtedly my logical choice of heir.” 

“He’s illegitimate?” Eugenides asked. The boy winced. 

The baron nodded slowly. “His mother died giving birth to him and he has been an errand-boy in my house, but he shall be well educated and prepared for the responsibilities of a nobleman.”

Irene leaned forward in her throne. “Young Erondites, come here.”

The little brown eyes looked from the floor up to her face and grew wide with apprehension. He walked to the foot of the dais and bowed. He looked at her again. She smiled. He looked down. She had seen what she needed to see in his eyes; he was a child without a mother, and she was a mother without a child. 

“Do you wish to stay here in the palace, serve your king, and learn from the best tutors?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the boy answered hopefully. He stole a glance back at his father, who looked surprised. The baron hadn’t expected such an offer. 

Irene saw that it was dawning on both Eugenides and the baron what this arrangement would mean. The boy would be taught loyalty to the throne, not to the house of Erondites. He would also be a well-treated hostage to ensure the Baron’s cooperation. Irene sensed very little love between the Baron and his son, and therefore felt no guilt in ordering Phresine to lead young Erondites away before the Baron had time to argue. 

Irene spent the rest of the day making arrangements for the child. His duties as an attendant would be light and his lessons would be rigorous, but still leave time for play.  

Later, after she and Eugenides had seen young Erondites happily installed in his cot, Eugenides whispered, “you are beautiful, and cunning, _and_ kind.”

..•.•.•.*.•.•.•.. 

Irene reclined comfortably by her desk and gazed out of the window at Erondites climbing trees in a palace garden. Only Phresine attended her, but the elderly woman had fallen asleep in another chair. Irene didn’t blame her—it had been a wakeful night. It felt strange to let Eugenides run all of the day’s meetings, but it also felt wonderful. The queen rarely took the time to notice such things as the sway of fig leaves in a breeze. 

She could hear Eugenides instructing his own guards and attendants in the hallway, and then he entered alone, carrying a thick pouch. 

Eugenides smiled warmly and asked, “Would you like to look at these now, or...” 

“Yes, now.”

Irene took the pouch with her left hand and held it between her knee and the edge of her desk to take the first letter out. Noticing this, Eugenides offered to help but she broke the wax seal one-handed while saying, “I’ll manage.”

It took effort now to do simple things like unfold sheets of paper, but she managed that too. She perused ingratiating letters of congratulations from Baronesses, and slightly more interesting economic reports. She set a page down in order to pour herself a cup of tea, carefully with her left hand. 

“I’m getting rather adept at doing things one-handed...” she commented. She smiled down at the long-awaited baby that she was holding and nursing on her right side, then over at her husband, “...and it’s your fault.”

..•.•.•.*.•.•.•.. 

Princess Gitta crawled over to a shrub and used its branches to pull herself to stand. When she started trying to climb up onto the branch, Irene gently plucked her off. Irene set her on her feet and then let go, and Gitta toddled forward a few steps, covering the distance to Irene’s outstretched arms. The guards and attendants around the garden cheered, while Gitta threw her chubby little arms around Irene’s neck and nuzzled her. 

“Only eight months old!” someone said.

“The king will be pleased—she has his exceptional sense of balance,” said another. 

“Mama,” Gitta giggled. To Gitta, Irene was neither a pliable princess or a ruthless monarch, a devious enemy or a compelling queen. She was simply mama, gentle and perfect. No one had ever had such complete trust in her. 

Tired of being kissed, Gitta crawled toward the shrub again, but Irene noticed a bulge in her cheek. 

“What do you have in your mouth?” Irene used a finger to scoop out—her eyes widened—one of her own ruby earrings. She touched her earlobe where it had been moments before. 

“Did the princess just...”

“She did! She must have slipped it out...” the attendants tittered. 

“ _Eugenides_ ,” Irene prayed, “ _if you_ will _teach her to steal so early, please don’t let her choke._ ”

..•.•.•.*.•.•.•.. 


End file.
